


His Little Whimpers

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dominant, F/M, Orgasm Denial, Public indecency, Punishment, Rimming, Rule Breaking, Sex, Smut, Spanking, Sub!Dean, Submissive, dom!reader, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 15:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19201564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: Dean’s breaking the rules on purpose and he must be punished.





	His Little Whimpers

He’d been too quick to agree with Sam’s suggestion of a supply run that morning on the way back to the bunker. You should have noticed - the way he kept glancing at you, eyebrows unable to remain still. Dean had a very expressive face and once you’d picked up on his enthusiasm, you grew suspicious.

“I might be a while,” Sam said, opening the passenger door of the Impala. “You sure you’re okay with me picking the -”

“Sammy,” Dean drawled, one arm slung over the back of his seat, “you know what I like to eat. I’m trusting you.” Sam’s mouth set into a thin line and he peered over at you, snug in the backseat. “Just don’t forget the pie,” Dean reminded, snapping Sam’s attention back to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” the younger man mumbled, climbing out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

Ducking his head, Dean watched as Sam grabbed a cart and headed into the store, his shoulders tense. As soon as he disappeared through the doors, Dean turned, giving you a bright smile.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What are you up to?”

“Come sit up front with me,” he beckoned, rolling his head in the direction of Sam’s previously occupied spot. “He’s gonna be ages. You can keep me company.”

Grunting, you shifted the blanket on your lap, tossing it at him before awkwardly hauling yourself over the seats. Once you were in place, Dean tossed the blanket back with a grin. “What’s your game?” you asked quietly, still untrusting of his motives.

“What?” The grin became a smirk that only managed to heighten your suspicion. “It was a rough hunt. A  _ long _ hunt.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Five days in a cramped motel room, sharing a twin that Dean barely fit on - you’d had no time to yourself or with Dean. It was worth it for the lives you saved, one of those rare hunts where there were no deaths, just injuries.

“That’s what you’re after,” you mused, regarding him coolly. Dean moved a little closer, leaning in far enough that you could smell his aftershave.

“Been hard as steel spending every night next to you,” he murmured, lips brushing over yours. You remained still, very aware you were in a public place. Dean kissed you softly, his hand sliding over your fingers to grasp them gently. “Wanting to touch you but knowin’ Sam’s in the next bed -”

Guiding your hand to his crotch, Dean moaned when your palm covered his erection. You bit your bottom lip, feeling the stirrings of arousal in your core. 

“Dean,” you whispered firmly, “this isn’t the time or the place.”

His cock twitched under your hand and you whimpered involuntarily, cursing your own weakness. “You’re still touching my dick,” he commented, knowing he’d won when you groaned. 

Moving his hand, he unbuttoned his pants, unzipping them enough that he could push your hand inside the fabric. Underneath, he was wearing tight underwear and you felt the soft velvety head of his cock just below the waistband.

“You’re breaking the rules, Dean,” you warned him, not making any attempt to stop him shoving your hand in his pants.

“Just want you to touch me.” His tone was pleading; you pulled back, leaving your hand in his pants, noted the wrecked expression on his face. “I need it, baby, please.”

You hesitated, your own arousal starting to get the better of you. Moving closer, you narrowed the space between you, fully grasping his cock inside his pants. Dean could have crowed with delight but pleasure overwhelmed him when you stroked your thumb over his tip. He was already leaking precum, beads of it gathering in his slit.

A loud rap on the window made you both jump and you turned to see Sam’s annoyed face looking down at you. Snatching your hand out of Dean’s pants, you tried to contain your embarrassment at being caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

Concealing Dean from view as he buttoned himself back up, you rolled down the window, smiling sweetly at Sam.

“Do you guys really have to do that here?” Sam complained. “We don’t have time to get arrested for indecent exposure.” Dean snorted, leaning forward to glare at his brother. Opening the door, Sam waved you out of the car. “C’mon. You obviously can’t be trusted alone.”

“It’s my car!” Dean protested as you climbed out, shaking your head. He got out reluctantly, his glare only more pronounced by his pout. Sam turned his back, heading for the store as you followed, Dean rushing to catch up as he muttered under his breath. “Goddamn, cockblocking little brothers.”

*****

The drive back to the bunker with a trunk full of supplies went quickly - mainly because you fell asleep in the back seat. You woke up as Dean turned the engine off, the fluorescent lights of the bunker garage making you squint when you sat up.

Sam opened his door first, climbing out and stretching; the last few hours had left him cramped and sore, especially right off a hunt. Leaning down, he cast his eyes over to you for a second before looking at his brother pointedly.

“I’m going to bed,” he informed him sternly, grabbing his bag from the spot below his seat. The underlying message was clear; no loud sex noises.

Dean grinned his handsome yet shit-eating grin at the younger man. “Sleep well, Sammy!” he cooed. Sam slammed his door shut as he turned away, heaving his duffel over his shoulder. You rolled your eyes, meeting Dean’s gaze in the mirror. “What?”

“You,” was your curt reply, prompting him to laugh. Sliding from the backseat, you moved to the trunk, opening it to grab your bag and Dean’s. He appeared at your side, taking both with a dazzling smile. “I don’t know why you’re so happy,” you muttered, grabbing the lapel of his jacket, tugging him toward you. “You broke a rule today.”

He shrugged lazily, his eyes dark as he kept grinning at you. “I’m aware.”

“Sometimes,” you hummed, brushing your lips against his, “I think you break the rules on purpose.”

“Me? Never.” His tone was condescending and you smirked, pushing him away from he could kiss you like he wanted.

“I’m gonna go grab a shower,” you announced, turning away, practically  _ hearing _ his pouty expression. Dean watched you go and a second after you made it through the door, you heard the trunk of the Impala slam shut.

You took your time in the shower, knowing that he’d already be hard just with the anticipation, plus the blue balls of days without any stimulation. Dean’s sex drive ran high, something of a blessing and curse when he was such a brat.

One of the hardest parts was deciding exactly how to punish him.

By the time you were done, the water was almost cold. The boys had showered at the motel this morning but a police presence had forced a rushed exit - they weren’t there for you or the Winchesters but it was better safe than sorry. You stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body before taking care of the more intimate needs.

Dean was standing at the foot of the bed when you entered the bedroom, already down to his boxers. You regarded him with a cool expression, shutting the door before crossing the room to the dresser and opening the top drawer. “You’re determined to get into trouble today, aren’t you, Dean?”

He met your eyes in the large mirror propped on the dresser. Glancing down at the boxers, you lifted your gaze back to his, watching in satisfaction as he realized what you wanted and swiftly shed the offending material.

“Sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, letting his arms hang at his sides.

You ignored the apology, turning your attention to the drawer’s contents. Selecting the item you’d decided to use, you laid it on the smooth wooden surface, turning around to face Dean. His eyes widened a fraction when your hands gripped the top of the towel, slowly dragging it down.

“I know you’re a little pent up,” you said slowly, watching his reaction as your nude body was slowly exposed to him, “but that’s no excuse for misbehaving.”

“I know,” Dean acknowledged, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“It’s okay,” you soothed, letting the towel drop fully.

His cock twitched, already leaking precum from the swollen tip. Dean’s resolve wobbled, his hand moving an inch or so before he reined it in and controlled himself. You smiled at his good behavior, deciding that he’d get to cum tonight just for resisting the urge to touch himself.

Picking up the object you’d selected, you hid it behind your back, moving to stand in front of Dean, who bowed his head ever so slightly. He had more than a few inches over you in height; it made the way he submitted to you all the more poignant.

“See,” you whispered, “sometimes you can be a really good boy.”

Dean’s lips curled upwards as he soaked in the praise. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You granted him the touch of your hand on his cheek and the temptation for him to curl into your warmth was visible on his face. But Dean knew the rules in this space and he held steady. “On your knees on the bed, Dean,” you commanded. “I wanna see that perfect ass that I own.”

There was a whisper of a whine from his lips that shot straight to the expanding ball of pleasure that felt like it was taking up space in your abdomen. It was like this every time - your libido always tried to get the better of you, wanting nothing but his cock buried inside you.

Dean needed this. He needed to just give the control to someone else, in this if nothing else.

He climbed onto the bed, his pert ass clenching with his movements and in all honesty, you may have drooled a little. Settling onto his hands and knees, he waited for further instruction and you waited, taking in every inch of his beautiful body.

His ass was firm, pale from little sunlight, the outline of where he wore his clothes visible. There was a strip of light tan across his lower back where his shirt usually rode up, accentuating the dimples just above his cheeks either side of his spine. Those spots were ticklish - you loved running your thumbs lightly over them and watching his shoulders tense.

The freckles that spattered his face seemed to form a trail down his spine, barely visible unless you looked for them. They let down between his asscheeks, dozens scattered over his smooth rump.

“You know what you did wrong today.” Your voice was suddenly too loud in the small room and you cleared your throat. “Both times.”

“B-both?” Dean sounded nervous and it gave you a little thrill.

“Tell me what you did wrong, Dean,” you continued.

His head lifted a little so he could hear you properly. “I begged you,” he murmured, “when I should have waited and earned it.”

“You did.” Your confirmation made him sigh in relief. “But that wasn’t all you did.” Pulling the paddle from behind your back, you inspected it. The design was simple black leather with a short handle, maybe six inches by three. It was one of your favorites and left such pretty red marks on your boy’s skin. “What else did you do, Dean?”

There was a second of hesitation and you laid the paddle carefully against his right ass cheek, letting him feel what was coming. His butt clenched and you had to swallow a moan at his tiny little whimper.

“I - I don’t know,” Dean confessed quietly, his body shaking as he tried to relax.

You hummed, dissatisfied with the answer. “You do know,” you scolded, rubbing the paddle in circles on his ass, watching him shudder. Moving it to the other cheek, you repeated the action, warming the skin with the friction of the leather. “Think hard.” 

“We were in public,” he rushed out, shoulders tensing over and over. His arms were bulging with the effort of not crashing into the mattress. Panting heavily, Dean lifted his chin when you removed the paddle from his ass. “In - in front of Sam.”

“Hmm.” Standing back, you admired the view for a moment. His thighs were parted enough to show the heavy sac between them, his cock twitching in response to the stimulation. You could imagine how hard it must feel, throbbing with arousal, held back by only his will to please you.

“I embarrassed you,” Dean concluded and you smiled.

“Good,” you praised, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his left ass cheek. Dean’s quiet whine made you chuckle, so you pressed another to the right cheek. “Can you count for me, Dean?”

“How many?”

“Twenty,” you replied, hearing his thankful little sigh, “on each cheek.”

His balls tensed and he couldn’t help the groan that left his lips. “Yes, Y/N.”

“You’re not allowed to cum,” you reminded him. “I know how on edge you are but you can hold it for me like a good boy, can’t you, Dean?”

Dean whimpered, nodding, his eyes closed in apprehension. “Yes, Y/N.” His response was satisfactory; you moved back far enough that you could get a good sweeping arc with the paddle, laying it against your plump target. Bringing your arm back, you struck him, the sound of the leather colliding with his soft rump echoing around the room.

He didn’t make a sound, breathing out  _ one _ \- you brought the paddle down again, watching the way his ass rippled with the impact. Already, his skin was turning red and he’d barely uttered the  _ two _ before you were bringing the paddle down once more.

By the time Dean had counted to fifteen, his ass was bright red and his numbers were ground out through clenched teeth. His cock was practically dripping onto the bedspread, his toes curled and his arms shaking violently from the strain of holding his own weight.

“Twenty,” he gasped, the last stroke almost making him give out.

You paused, walking around to check he was okay, needing to see his face so you knew he wasn’t lying. It had been a point of contention in the early days of your relationship, when you were still exploring his limits. Dean had an endurance most men would be jealous of but he also had a habit of letting the punishment continue to the point it was no longer pleasure he was gaining but self-flagellation.

“Look at me,” you urged softly and he raised his head obediently.

His face was flushed and he was starting to perspire. The green of his eyes was almost eclipsed by the pupil and his breaths came in short little gasps. You grasped his chin, lifting his head higher and inspecting him.

“Tell me your color, Dean.” Colors were simple, especially with how out of it you knew he could get.

“Green,” he replied firmly, licking his lips, the truth on his face and straining between his thighs. “Please, Y/N -”

“No begging,” you smiled, tapping his cheek. “You’ve still got twenty strikes left.”

“Yes, Y/N.” Dean straightened himself again, preparing for the rest of his punishment. You returned to the foot of the bed, admiring the contrast between the pale freckled left cheek and the reddened right cheek. With all the blood flushed to the surface from the blows of the paddle, you could see his freckles a little clearer, each dot like part of a constellation.

Touching him was irresistible; you grasped his right cheek, leaning in and gently pressing your teeth against the sore spot, making Dean hiss loudly. It wasn’t a hard bite, only enough to make the imprint of your teeth seem bright against the bruising skin.

“You really are so sexy to look at like this,” you commented, smirking when he wiggled his hips impatiently. He tensed when the paddle touched his left cheek and held his breath. You stopped, waiting, frowning when he kept holding it. “Dean, breathe.”

He obeyed, his shoulders dropping a little and you waited again, giving him a second to regulate his breathing. 

“Remember to count.”

The first strike made him whimper again, his ass clenching, the skin changing just like before. It was almost mesmerizing, the sound of his wrecked counting, each number a moan that made your toes curl into the carpet. When you’d finally reached twenty, he almost screamed the number, his arms shaking hard enough to make the bed shudder.

“Relax,” you soothed, leaning in to kiss his bruised ass, running your hand over it, “you’re a good boy, Dean.” Dean whimpered, letting his upper body drop, the strain on his arms too much. The move exposed his asshole and you grinned, deciding to give him a reward for being so well-behaved.

He jumped when your tongue touched his tight hole, swiftly recovering with a slight moan that sounded altogether obscene when it reached you. You repeated the action, tasting his skin, lowering yourself so you were braced on the edge of the bed with your arms, bent double to drag your tongue over his balls.

“Fuck,” Dean grunted, “Y/N -”

“On your back,” you ordered, tossing the paddle toward the dresser, watching Dean scrambled up the bed and onto his back. Climbing over the footer, you crawled toward him, straddling his thighs, wrapping one hand around his engorged cock.

He hissed when you stroked him, precum dribbling down his shaft. “Please, Y/N, I…”

“You know the rules,” you chided, lifting up to guide him to your entrance. “You don’t cum until I tell you.”

His jaw clenched but Dean nodded, gasping as your heat enveloped him. You sank down quickly, your own arousal raging through your veins, making it hard not to just ride him until he filled you completely. 

“You’re not gonna cum inside me.” Rolling your hips, you let your body adjust to his size and Dean sank his teeth into his lip. “But I wanna cum on you.” He gasped, his hands on your thighs as you started to move, giving you a little more balance.

It didn’t take long. You’d been aroused since his stunt in the car - sometimes this was as hard on you as it was on him. Within moments, you were crying out, clenching around him tightly enough to make his eyes roll back in his head.

Pulling off, you wrapped your fingers around his dick again, straddling one thick thigh that pressed against your sensitive pussy in just the right way. The sound Dean made was almost like a growl and you stroked him, smiling as he kept trying to hold his orgasm at bay.

“You can cum,” you whispered, locking your eyes on his cock, hearing his relief when he started to fuck into your hand. His climax came only seconds later, thick spurts of cum painting his belly. The moan of completion that spilled from his lips was deep and lasted until he’d run out of breath; one last pump and Dean went completely limp, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest.

You lifted your hand, inspecting the spendings that coated your fingers before grabbing one of his dirty shirts that he insisted on leaving on the floor. Wiping your hand off, you tossed the shirt toward the laundry basket.

“I’ll get you something to clean up,” you promised. Dean managed a nod which made you smile. He wouldn’t be any use for at least five minutes.

Dressing in some shorts and a shirt that probably belonged to Dean but fit comfortably, you grabbed your towel and dropped it onto his belly. Dean grunted, forcing his eyes open as he snatched the towel and started to clean up.

“I’m gonna need another shower,” he complained, pouting at you. 

You giggled at that, shaking your head. “I don’t,” you poked your tongue out, “which makes a change.”

He threw the towel at you - you shrieked and dodged it, laughing when a pillow followed shortly after. Picking the pillow back up, you launched it back at him, dropping yourself back down into the space beside him as he dragged the pillow off of his face.

“How’s your ass feeling?” you teased.

Dean smirked. “Put it this way,” he muttered, rolling to capture your lips in a proper kiss, deep and satisfyingly toe-curling. “I’m gonna be thinking about you every time I sit down.”


End file.
